


He Ain't Heavy, He's My Leprechaun

by KirkyPet



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake Marriage, Fluff, Podfic Welcome, Self-Mutilation, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23199031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KirkyPet/pseuds/KirkyPet
Summary: What happens after Laura carries Sweeney off from the funeral home. Happy endings, goddammit!
Relationships: Baron Samedi/Maman Birgitte, Laura Moon/Mad Sweeney
Comments: 62
Kudos: 108





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve got a brand new imaginatively named madwife tumblr blog - https://he-aint-heavy-hes-my-leprechaun.tumblr.com/ - if you fancy stopping by

The weight wasn’t the worst part, though that was getting her down way more than she’d expected -

He was so _cold._

She’d gotten so used to it, the rank heat from him that’d been the source of much colourful back-and-forth. She might be decaying, but a living body could stink pretty bad when baths were not a priority. As it was with Sweeney.

 _Had_ _been._

She stumbled.

_Fuck._

Crouching, she unslung him from her shoulders and he flopped into the dust, the red stain on his shirtfront glaring at her accusingly.

If she could’ve cried, she would have. But that wasn’t an option. She could kick something. Kick _him._ But no. That wouldn’t help her in her task, booting the ginger shit in half wouldn’t get him back on his feet.

Laura looked down at the dead man lying in the dust.

This was _nothing_ like in New Orleans, when she’d found him passed out. Back then _,_ his shit-eating grin had been right there beneath the drunken stupor, just ready to appear. Now there was nothing at all.

And there never would be again if she didn’t _do something._

What was the plan again? Laura had only thought as far as getting him out of that fucking vipers’ nest.

Doubt nagged as the sun crept higher. Maybe she should’ve waited til Jacquel had embalmed him. She was more than five hundred miles from New Orleans, carrying a seven fucking foot dead leprechaun. She doubted she’d be able to hitch a ride.

No, forget New Orleans. She wanted nothing more to do with that voodoo prick and his mind games.

Who else could help? What about the Easter lady? She hadn’t joined the party, for all Wednesday’s wheedling. And it was _Shadow_ who’d done this. By accident, he said - and Laura believed him - so there should be none of that ‘oh but you were killed by a god’ bullshit. 

But no, it wouldn’t work. Easter would be as slippery as the rest of them - she would find some excuse or other not to help.

Laura spat into the dust. The absence of wrigglers was barely a consolation. She was fucked. They were both fucked.

Besides, she had no idea _where_ in Kentucky that house actually was. She’d just been following Shadow.

No, this was on _her_.

Not his death. No. That wasn’t her doing. If he wanted to dash off and get himself killed that was his choice. She might’ve goaded him, called him a coward, but that was no excuse for not using his brain.

Laura surveyed Sweeney’s face and a shivery thrill ran through her.

That wasn’t someone who’d been beaten. He wore as much of a ‘how’d you fucking like that?’ look as a dead man possibly could. Had he dealt a blow to Wednesday in the end? Laura bared her teeth in savage sympathy. Something like pride flared in her, but shame with it.

She’d called him a coward. That was the last thing she’d said to him. Which was why she was not gonna leave it like that.

It was on her, because she wanted this gangly bastard back more than anyone else did. Those gods didn’t give a shit about Sweeney, they only cared about themselves.

Laura stopped herself just in time, just before she self consciously chewed a chunk out of her own cheek. Bad habit.

Yes, she did care about Sweeney. That was the only card she had left to play right then. And if it worked - well, she didn’t exactly have to advertise the fact. He probably didn’t know how the Baron’s resurrection juice worked anyway. Just gotta stay away from New Orleans, that was all.

Thus she reasoned, dragging Sweeney by one scuffed boot into the undergrowth. This wasn’t about Shadow anymore. It wasn’t even about Wednesday. This was personal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I haven't been called out on this yet, but you're probably too nice to nitpick. So I'll play critical commenter to my own chapter and say 'How does Laura know that Sweeney's cold when she can't feel heat or cold? While we're on the subject, how did she know he was stinky and rank when he was alive?'  
> To that I will say 'her imagination is filling in the gaps that her senses are lacking. She had 27 years of being alive and smelling and feeling so when she sees a man who looks like he hasn't taken a bath this millennium, she will most certainly classify him as stinky. Especially when he's constantly calling her stinky. Also, she's painfully aware that he is now very dead and life = heat. She knows he's cold and that's enough'.  
> It's a flaw in the logic that I just noticed, but it's comforting to always have the argument at hand that humans are not particularly logical.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, I was determined not to read any meta before I wrote this but I happened upon a post that made the observation that Laura had probably had all her blood drained out during the embalming process. Which I hadn’t thought of. Oops.
> 
> However, she may not be aware of that, so perhaps it doesn’t matter for this fic. Anyway, happy reading!

With the vial in one hand and a switchblade in the other, she knelt by Sweeney’s corpse.

She’d thought this through.

_Blood infused with love_

Laura had nearly given up the whole business when she’d heard that minor detail. Presumably not just _anybody’s_ love would do, ‘else the potion would come with it included. You could mass produce that stuff easy enough, surely.

Presumably this had to be - _sigh_ \- personal.

Laura McCabe’s blood had never been particularly well-infused with that interesting ingredient. And becoming Laura Moon hadn’t worked any sudden miracles either.

Any love _Shadow_ had had for her had been siphoned off by that old bastard. Not that she could honestly say she’d really valued it all that much.

So she’d been pretty stumped.  
  
But what _was_ love - really?

Was it when someone irritated you so much that you’d gladly push them off a bridge - but would probably wind up jumping off after them? Was it when you - _somehow_ \- fucked them and would be not opposed to doing it again if not for the fact that it was _yet another trick?_ Was it when that person being stupidly _dead_ sets your teeth on edge so much you can barely think straight?

Because it would be really convenient if that was the case. Doubly so, now.

Laura had thought it through, good and hard, and had decided that - yes, her blood may be infused with something approximating to love. Beginner-level, maybe, a piss-poor watery kind, but it might just qualify?

What she _hadn’t_ thought through was that, being not-recently dead, her blood wasn’t going to be exactly flowing freely.

This was going to be harder than she’d thought. And much more unpleasant.

Even dead, there was something seriously unsettling about taking a blade and slicing your left wrist lengthwise in the hope that blood would come. Especially when you’d dreamt about doing that very thing all your life and raged at your inability to actually go through with it.

She stared at the shredded flesh and sighed. Nothing. Just two drops, that’s all she needed, but _nooo._ Did she even _have_ any blood left in her dried-up veins?

Or did it just need a little help? A little push?

What was it that had made her heart beat? Count ‘em on one hand -

First was Shadow kissing her back like nothing had ever happened - then the cold and calculated murder of a god - and finally, opening her eyes during the best fuck of her life and seeing whose arms she was really in -

It could’ve been that she hadn’t actually _felt_ anything in so fucking long, but -

 _I deal in truth._ Hmph. Asshole.

Well, if that was the truth, then her useless potion may not be so fucking useless after all.

If. She. Could. Just. Bleed a little. Bit.

She’d already cut out the bloodied parts of Sweeney’s shirt and soaked it with water. Squeezed it carefully, drop by drop, into the all-too-narrow neck of the tiny bottle.

If she couldn’t get two drops of her own, his would have to make up the volume.

Infused with love, that was all. If she had to _scrape_ it out of herself she would get something. Pain wasn’t a problem - that rum concoction had long worn off long ago.

For good measure, she even scraped the dried stuff from the toe of her boot - _who’d have thought a god could bleed like that? Die at all? But the old Russian woman had died and they’d all mourned. They knew there was no way back for_ her _-_

She flinched at the thought. _Shut the fuck up_. _Focus_. What made her heart beat?

Power, definitely. She’d thought it was love, at first. But killing that Argus guy had opened her eyes - no pun intended. She’d kept right on kidding herself though because, if she wasn’t chasing Shadow, then what?

She thought she had power over Shadow, that was all. Maybe she had, once. But it was long gone now. Fine. It didn't matter anymore.

She had the power to kill, that was certain. Did she have power to give life? She had to believe it.

She knelt over Sweeney’s corpse, straddled his chest. Stared him in his dead face.

“You. Are going to come back. Do you hear me, you ginger prick?”

Nothing.

She had to believe there was some love in her. It wouldn’t work otherwise.

So she thought of obnoxious jokes and grandiose claims and elaborate insults and wildflowers and the smell of his shirt as she pressed her face to his chest and the look on his as he saw who he was fucking. But it was the wildflowers she kept coming back to and finally she pressed her lips to his and imagined a better world where things were different -

_Thud_

She gasped into his lax lips -

_Thudthud owwwww_

Her whole body ached with it, the movement of the disgusting sludge that had stagnated for so long. It almost _burned_ -

She dragged her eyes half-fearfully from his face to her ragged arm. Yes! A sluggish trickle of dark purple oozed from the wound, and she scooped it up eagerly. It was clotted and unrecognisable but she felt absurdly proud of it.

Her hands shook as she deposited the clot into the mouth of the tiny bottle, put her thumb over it and gave it a vigorous shake.

“Right,” she muttered, leaning over him to part his lips before she had time to change her mind. Presumably it was meant to be taken by mouth -

Laura upended the bottle carefully and dropped the potion between a gap in his teeth. She was surprised there weren’t more of them, the number of teeth he must’ve had knocked out over the millennia or whatever.

She fought down the sudden urge to giggle. This was ridiculous. If Shadow could see her now. It was almost as if she _believed_ in something.

This had to work.


	3. Chapter 3

It didn’t work.

She’d been so sure it would work.

Despair hit her like a ton of bricks. It was no good. Her blood was too rotten and corrupt to be any good.

Fuck.

She sank down in weariness and bitter disappointment.

Wait. Stop. _The potion was made for her and she had the coin_. That meant -

A smile spread slowly over her face and her arm oozed some more.

So this was it. She’d chased death her whole life and this was her chance to make something worthwhile of it. She would bring back Sweeney if only to spite Wednesday.

He probably did hate him more than she did, than she ever could. She’d only known the old bastard a couple weeks, after all. Him and Sweeney went back a bit longer.

She’d had a good run of it, she thought, taking hold of the switchblade. It’d been interesting. After all she’d seen, she was almost curious to see what would come next.

*

It’s just like rummaging in your bag for door keys, really.

In the dark. If your bag was full of decomposing human body parts, and you’re the bag.

 _Where the fuck is it?_ she fumed silently, searching and probing until, finally, her fingers closed round a curved, flat disc.

Gripping it tightly - _if she dropped it, they were both coyote food_ \- she held it in her closed fist. But curiosity outweighed caution - by degrees she uncurled her fingers and peeked inside to see what it looked like - the coin that had pulled her from the afterlife, such as it was.

It glinted at her in a way that no surgically removed coin should. No gore, nothing dimmed its golden gleam. Like she held sunshine in her hand -

“So _this_ is your lucky charm - ?”

Grasping it tightly again, she held her closed fist over Sweeney’s wound. Just big enough to pop it right in. She glanced up at his face in a last desperate hope that he was responding to the potion, but no. As dead as ever.

Right, let’s do this.

She clutched the coin between finger and thumb and slotted it into the wound. The punctured flesh sucked it out of her grip with a wet sound.

*

“You again,” a familiar voice intoned.

“Oh, hey,” she looked round and got to her feet. “Forgot you’d show up.”

“Well?” he gestured her to follow, a little too impatiently for her liking.

“Just wait. A minute. I need to see if this works - ”

And, to her infinite satisfaction, Sweeney sat bolt upright and cursed the air blue. She didn’t know what the language was, but it was a good one for cursing.

Laura smiled a small smile and turned away, not wanting to see any more. “Okay. Well, come on then.”

*

“What’s this place?” she asked Jacquel, looking around at the moonscape of rock spread all around. This wasn’t like any place she’d ever seen before. Those clouds looked way too angry for it to be heaven, but it certainly wasn’t hell. Not that she believed in either.

The mortician ignored the question. “Will you let me weigh you this time?”

He didn’t attempt to reach for her.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” she stepped away. Not to avoid him, simply to step to the next rock, just to see how it felt not to have a body. It felt good. The air tasted fresh, as far as a dead person could judge. This was okay. Anywhere that didn’t look like Eagle Point was okay with her. And that included hot tubs filled with bug spray.

“Well, if you will stay, I’ll be gone. Farewell, Laura Moon.”

“It’s McCabe,” she called out absently to the retreating man, who was now a dog. She didn’t much care if he heard or not. She was too busy watching the seagulls.


	4. Chapter 4

Tying up her hair, Maman Brigitte approached the front entrance curiously. The hammering was fainter now and seemed to be coming from near ground level.

Sure enough, a body slumped in as soon as she opened the door. With a familiar haircut, the very colour of the Tuatha Dé Danann. He was back already, the drunken bastard. She sighed deeply.

“Hell no, Sweeney, you can’t be comin’ here litterin’ up my doorstep - ” 

Brigitte stopped.

Sweeney’s eyes were not those of a drunk. They were staring up at her all wide and wild and now she saw why. Two bodies. One in considerably better shape than the other. Breathing, for one.

Dead girl was well and truly dead this time, and it was not a good look. 

_Well, now - ain’t that interesting -_

*

The Baron grinned, in a manner that only infuriated Sweeney more.

“Oh shit, that’s what she did with it, ‘ey? Ain’t that just precious? You got your very own luck right there, Sweeney fou.”

Sweeney stepped forward with his fists clenched. “Will you stop standing there wi’ yer two arms the one length or I swear I’ll fuckin’ slap the shit outta ya - ”

Brigitte stepped between them hurriedly. “Whoa, whoa - c'mon Samedi, put this poor fool outta his misery.”

“ _Relax_ , mon frère,” the Baron raised both hands, placating. “She ain’t gonna get any more dead than she is already. I’m on it, trust me.”

“Good,” Sweeney growled, hackles visibly dropping. 

“C’mon, baby, tell mama all about it. What happened here?” Brigitte murmured, circling him, taking in the ragged holes in his clothes front and back. Like he’d been run clean through the middle. _Gungnir._ She caught the Baron’s eye and raised her eyebrows. The edges had been cut away. A knife. She glanced at the dead girl’s tattered left arm. Girl’d done her best, that was damn sure. Determined.

“Grimnir was bein’ a prick. So I took his fuckin’ spear," he paused and admitted, somewhat reluctantly, "Got a bit kilt in the process, but it was worth it.”

“This little lady thought otherwise, looks like," Brigitte observed.

“Look, can you do it or what?”

In reply, the Baron looked up. “Only one coin between you. I can only do so much. You gotta pool your resources, big guy.”

Sweeney frowned, confused. “What does that mean?”

“You gotta _wed_ ,” Brigitte explained. “What’s yours is hers. Ain’t no other way and you know it.”

Sweeney looked like someone had let a rocket off in his face. He took two, three steps back. “Oh no. No way. She’d fuckin’ kill me.”

Brigitte clucked her tongue and shook her head sceptically.

“Girl did say she had poor impulse control,” the Baron mused, scratching his chin with a sly wink at Brigitte.

Sweeney straightened up, offended. “Y’all think this is funny,” he spluttered, trying to look dignified. It did not work.

“Oh no, baby, ain’t nobody laughing at you right now. Swear it," she assured him. That wasn’t a lie, at least. They’d save it for later.

Sweeney glowered and subsided. He huffed and fretted.

“I can’t marry a dead woman. Even if she didn’t mind. Which _she_ would!”

“You give her that coin back, you will die,” the Baron folded his arms across his chest in a way that always caught Brigitte’s attention, no matter what other matters were at hand. As if he read her mind, the Baron gave her a another wink that promised much. _Later, later._

“But if I _keep_ it and wed her, half the horde will be hers - ” Sweeney murmured, turning the idea every which way. Mulling it over. Not the sharpest, but she knew he'd get there in the end.

“You can part ways after the lune de miel, and no harm done. A marriage of convenience. You live, she lives, everyone’s happy.”

He groaned tragically, which convinced nobody. "Fine!” He pointed at the not-so-pretty corpse laid out on the table. “But she can’t know about this, okay? You can’t be tellin’ her. I mean it!”

“On the word of a loa,” the Baron promised, putting his arm around Brigitte. “Right, my Queen?”

“You got my word.”


	5. Chapter 5

On moment she was sitting on the cliff edge, idly tapping her boot heels on the grassy rock face, next she was -

_Whoosh_

Gasping for air and staring up at a smoke-stained ceiling. The air she sucked into her lungs - _wait, what_ _-_ was thick with some spicy smell - she knew that smell from somewhere long long ago - or maybe not so long ago – and she felt – _different_ \- 

To put it mildly.

“Congratulations, my brother,” came a deep voice. “Your lady is back with us.”

That voice went with the smell. She was in New Orleans, and that meant she may not be dead anymore.

Her murky view was immediately eclipsed by Sweeney’s elongated ginger halo and uncertain face.

Laura blinked up at him and gasped out, “Oh fuck. It’s you.”

His smile was exactly like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.

“It’s me.”

*

“So what’s the joke?”

She was alone with the Baron, sitting upright, her feet dangling uncomfortably over the edge of the slab she'd woken up on. She felt weird. There were way more processes going on than she was used to. Presumably she’d never really noticed them before she’d died, but now everything felt new. She had an irrational fear that she would forget to breathe.

“Oh, you just be full of surprises, _ma chére_ Laura Moon,” he chuckled, washing his hands. “That’s all.”

“Yeah so it's actually McCabe now - ” she replied wearily. _Was she going to have to tell every fucking god she met?_ And, because she might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, she asked the question that'd been bugging her.

“Tell me, does Sweeney _know?_ About the sang - thing?”

“Le vrai sang de l'amour? Well, I never gave him the recipe, if that’s what you wanna know. Wouldn’t worry about it," he shrugged.

She sighed, much relieved. Thank fuck for that. It was definitely not a conversation she needed to be having after being dead for weeks. Or at all, for that matter. _Christ, if he thought she was going soft on him -_

But no, it was all perfectly simple. Sweeney was setting things right best way he knew how, that was all. He had a conscience. She'd suspected as much.

“So - am I alive then, or what?” she asked. “Is he?”

“Long as you two stick together for thirty days, you’re both alive. Can you do that?”

Laura took a deep breath, nodded. “I can do that.”

The leprechaun may well try to shake her off, now he had his coin back. But he could probably put up with her for a month, seeing as he’d gone to the trouble of bringing her here. Besides, she’d make it as easy for him as she could. Be on her best behaviour. She’d got what she’d wanted, after all.

Life. It could actually be good, just maybe.

The Baron grinned. “Brigitte! Sweeney fou, à table! This calls for a celebration! Drinkin’ and eatin’s why we live, ‘mongst other things. Pull up a chair, my friend, by the lady.”

*

Laura lay curled up in the biggest easychair she’d ever seen, arm dangling over the edge. She was getting pins and needles and it felt amazing.

Plus, whatever was in that ‘tonic’ was kicking in big time. She felt sleepy and _wide_ _awake_ at the same time. Five hours resurrected and she’d almost cleared the buffet table. Seemed people woke up real hungry after being dead for weeks. Samedi had upped his game for the occasion.

“Your friend there sure can cook,” she murmured to Sweeney, who slumped on the rug, leaning against a dusty-looking chaise longue. His chin was on his chest, his arms folded. He might’ve been asleep, or just resting his eyes but she could hear him breathing and that was enough.

“You’re not wrong,” he agreed, and took a deep breath like he was trying to wake himself up. He cracked his neck with a grimace and turned toward her, resting his chin on his arm.

Sweeney looked just about as comfortable as she’d ever seen him – also confused and perplexed and not-remotely-up-to-speed, but she’d seen him look that way quite often and indeed much more so. The overall effect was – she had to admit – kinda fucking cute.

He blinked at her with big brown eyes – _as low-grade wasted as she was, by the looks of them_ \- and cleared his throat.

“Nice bein’ alive, then?”

“Mmmm - ” she concurred. “Maybe you’ll stop calling me Dead Wife now?”

“Hmph,” he looked up at her after a moment’s thought. “Suppose the c-word’s still out?”

“What do _you_ think?”

“It’s a term of endearment in some places, y’know - ” he grumbled sleepily. “More advanced cultures - ”

“Is that right?" she smiled, despite herself. She was strangely reluctant to tear her thoughts beyond the here-and-now, but she had _questions_. Like _How did that happen?_ _How do you just die like that?_

But Laura knew full well what’d happened. The broad strokes of it, anyway. A confrontation with Wednesday. Right after she’d bawled him out, called him his bitch.

_Shit._

Fixing her eyes on the flickering candle, she blurted out, “Look. I’m sorry I said what I did. I was lashing out and – I swear, if you did it to prove me wrong, I’ll be _so fucking mad_ \- ”

Sweeney huffed, and there was a smile in his voice as he spoke. “Don’t flatter yourself. No, I went and drank myself stupid. Everything after that was just a happy accident.”

The atmosphere was thick with greasy smoke from the candles that Brigitte had placed nearby. Part of the recuperation process, she’d said. Laura hated incense and all that shit but this was kinda nice – the tension from her previously-deceased muscles was easing, anxiety slipping away, leaving only warmth and life and something she couldn’t identify. Laura made a mental note to ask Brigitte if she could take some away with her. You didn't get this kind of shit at Yankee Candle.

Relieved and curious, Laura slithered out of her chair to sit on the floor. “So you _did_ hurt him – Wednesday I mean – how?”

“Took his spear. It’s mine now.” A smirk flitted over his face. “And he’s not getting it back.”

Laura thought of the gaping hole in Sweeney’s chest. Remembered the look on his dead face, the malicious triumph –

 _\- holy shit, he took it, and sent it to the hoard_ _through_ there _– that’s so fucked up -_

On impulse she reached out and touched where the wound had been. It was easy to locate it – the gaping hole in his shirt, intact skin showing through. She laid her palm flat over it, soaking up the warmth, revelling in it. Closing her eyes, she sighed - _much_ better.

The feel his shuddery intake of breath brought her back to herself and she snatched her hand away. _Wait, what was she doing?_ Plus, did it hurt him? There _had_ been a big fucking hole there not so long ago.

No, he didn’t look hurt. Stunned, kinda high maybe. Definitely not hurt. 

“Warm – you’re _warm_ now," and he sounded suitably impressed. Laura was feeling pretty proud of her newly-alive status and she held her hand out as further proof of the thing. Sweeney ran his fingers over where she’d shredded herself. It was all healed now. Didn’t hurt, not at all. Tickled a bit, but that was nice too. Remembering, she looked down at her chest where she’d cut herself open. Oh come _on_ – how was there not a scar there? Amazing. If this was an actual proper miracle and not to be snatched away by grey reality she had to admit that she did maybe just believe in something.

Because warmth and taste and smell and touch she had again, and _oh god it was good_ –

And what was really different was the believing. Where she’d gone – it was different. Not empty, not dark and lonely. There had been wind, and sea – she’d followed the sound of gulls from rock to rock ‘til there’d been a cliff edge – she could’ve sat there forever listening to the waves. She could almost imagine the taste of the fine salt spray.

She’d believed in something then – hardly knowing what – and now she knew. He could’ve took his coin and walked away, but he didn’t. He’d stood up to Wednesday and he brought her _back to life_ and he was still here.

_She believed in Sweeney._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this while listening to:
> 
> Dreaming, by Sun Ra
> 
> https://youtu.be/-_tOvPAKEHo

The distant _pat-pat_ of drums was like a heartbeat –

Laura opened her eyes to what was possibly the gentlest of radio alarms – 

_Dreaming – dreaming – here I am dreaming again –_ s _leeping – sleeping – it’s time for me to wake up –_

She took a deep breath of the very-Sweeney smell that filled her world right then – reason being, her nose was buried in a thatch of orange hair. His head was heavy, pillowed on her right arm. Breath coming and going on her ribs. Blinking away sleep in the dim light, criss-crossed with dust-mote beams, she focused – and, as she raised her head a fraction, Sweeney looked up at her. He looked wide awake and a little apprehensive - which was reasonable, Laura reflected, considering she hadn’t reacted at all well to their last encounter in the Coq Noir.

There was still considerable doubt in Laura's mind whether or not _that_ had actually happened - physically, anyway.

 _This_ , however –

This was very real. Sweeney was here when she woke up, for one thing. His hand had definitely been warm on her belly before he’d carefully removed it. And he was awake and at eye-level to at her right breast and, frankly, her first strong impulse had been to leap up and make an embarrassed fuss about the whole thing. But that would be counterproductive. Firstly, it would only make it more embarrassing. Secondly, she couldn’t deny that it was a pleasant awakening.

So, she merely took a deep calming breath and made small talk.

“Been awake long?” she asked, determined not to make any kind of observation on the now-undeniable fact that they were both very naked.

“Hmh? No - No – just woke up. Just now. Was just looking at - ”

“The view?” she suggested, because it was too easy.

Sweeney looked up at her reproachfully and huffed. “The breathing. Just appreciating the mechanics of the thing, that’s all.” He stubbornly turned his attention to her ribs-area. “It’s a better look on you. Healthy.”

Laura drew an exasperated breath, and lost her temper regardless _because she was not going to lie here and be examined as if she was the only one who'd been dead recently._

She squirmed down the bed a couple of feet, determined to explain to Sweeney that _living and breathing_ was a much better look on him than the stupid perforated one he was sporting yesterday –

But she didn’t get a chance to get the words out because the door opened and music flooded in. Yes, there _had_ been a knock, but it was clearly just a formality because neither of them had chance to blink let alone call out yay or nay.

At least it was Brigitte.

Sweeney rolled his eyes, “Just come on in, why don’t ya?”

“Mornin’ sunshine - Aww - look at you two, havin’ fun.”

Laura pulled the sheet up and lay there awkwardly, arms folded. But the way Brigitte was sashaying around with what looked like clean laundry, this wasn't going to be a quick visit. So Laura wriggled back and got comfy against the pillows. She gave Brigitte a half-hearted wave, while Sweeney merely sat up and grumbled.

“So, we have got your clean clothes here – but you two stink like death so there’s a couple baths already run. Sweeney, darlin’, yours is right through there.” She pointed through a door and nodded meaningfully toward a steaming copper tub that Laura was almost certain hadn’t been there a moment ago, “ – and here’s yours, baby girl. Don’t be long now, breakfast’s on the stove.”

“Thanks - ” Laura mumbled.

“Five stars, would stay again!” Sweeney called after her as she swept out, singing under her breath to the music.

_If you live in fables then you know what I mean – for that is a world where things aren’t what they seem -_

*

Laura lay back in the steaming water and reflected on her changed circumstances. Sweeney was evidently mulling over similar matters. The sound of languid splashing had ceased entirely. She heard him sigh, manoeuvre somehow and clear his throat. “So – what now?” he asked.

She turned and leaned over the tub’s edge – it was positioned just so – to see him staring back at her over the rim of the huge rolltop bath like a ginger merman. “Well,” she shrugged in reply, “ - we’ve gotta stick together for thirty days. That’s what the Baron said, right? Question is – _where?_ And doing what?”

For her part, she didn’t fancy staying here, although it had its comforts. And, as for _what_ they would do, she blushed a little despite herself. During her ablutions, she’d found sufficient evidence that they hadn’t been bored. The crusted stain on her forearm was pretty damning. Well, for what it was worth, she knew now that he was a natural redhead. She couldn’t say for sure whether or not they’d fucked, but she definitely remembered hands and skin, lots of skin - and lips and tongues – _oh god -_

She ducked under the water in an effort to drive all distracting thoughts from her head.

Resurfacing with a gasp, she wiped the water from her eyes and turned back to see him watching her with a look she couldn't quite read. "Oh, you're finished?" he asked, blinking in feigned surprise. "Can I make a suggestion now?”

*

The water was cooling all too quickly. Plus, the copper tub had an amplifying effect on the sound of her stomach rumbling. “Alright, I’m getting out now!” she called out, to warn him.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be seen. She just didn’t want to be distracted. She was _starving_ and breakfast was waiting. Laura towelled herself off hurriedly and reached for her laundered dress and underwear. Holding the bundle to her nose for a moment and taking a breath, she resisted the urge to exclaim how good they smelt. She might have got a second chance at life, but she would not behave like someone in a fabric softener commercial.

It happened just as she thrust her arm into the sleeve of her dress.

“What the fuck was that - ?” she asked Sweeney, who stepped out of the bathroom as the coins rolled and rattled across the floorboards.

“Ah.”

_“Ah?”_

“Yeah – that might happen for a while. Just think of it as - " he paused for thought, "- gold dandruff.”

Laura squatted down and examined one of the coins. “Are these actually _real?_ ” she asked, sceptically.

“They’re as real as I am. Just - not entirely real outside the hoard.”

“Fairy gold? Evaporates in the morning?”

“Not always,” he bent down to pick them up. “Give ’em here, I’ll get rid of them.”

“’Cos I’m just thinking, I’m probably gonna be buying a _lot_ of snacks over the next while. It’s not gonna be cheap.”

“I’ll keep you in ribs, don’t be worryin’,” he muttered from under the bed.

“No ribs,” she shuddered. After the last few weeks, vegetarianism sounded preferable. “So this coin thing - it's gonna wear off, right?”

“Yeah. Probably.”

*

“Oh my god, this is good,” Laura moaned around a mouthful of eggs and andouille. Sweeney had given up the running commentary on her resurrection appetite ten minutes ago and was talking to Brigitte and the Baron.

“So, yeah – we were thinkin’ Vegas. Now I’ve got my luck back and the Hungry Caterpillar here isn’t an actual walking biohazard – _your words_ , ow fuck’s sake - ”

It was nice to be able to kick him without worrying about shattering his ankle.

“So no _war?_ ” the Baron raised an eyebrow.

“Pfft. No. Stoppin’ it maybe – hadn’t decided yet.” Sweeney looked at Laura for backup and she shrugged, still chewing.

Living was still enough of a novelty and she, personally, wasn’t in a huge rush to quit it. Even for revenge. Even for Shadow? No. Shadow had made it very clear what he wanted, and she no longer felt sufficiently motivated to argue with him.

No, Vegas was calling and they were gonna _clean up_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for skipping through the smut! But I am very bad at it. I trust you can all use your imaginations


	7. Chapter 7

They took the back roads to Nevada as much as they could, testing their luck for gas money along the way. Backwoods bars, mainly. The car was roomy and comfortable and Sweeney certainly wasn’t a bad road trip companion now he'd got his mojo back. The sudden interest in coin tricks was less annoying than it should be and, while he always won at darts now and was insufferably smug about it, there was less chance of a stray dart ricocheting past her head.

No, it was going pretty well. Laura could actually say she was enjoying herself. It was kinda unsettling. She found herself counting down the days with an increased uneasiness that she wouldn't analyse. _Twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three -_

But it was only when she freaked out and nearly wrecked the car that she finally knew for sure. How far gone she was, specifically.

It was the _buzzing_ that’d done it. A fly had gotten into the car, that was all, but she lost her shit entirely.

_It hasn’t worked – something’s gone wrong –_

She hadn’t taken it calmly.

They were lucky it was a quiet road. Slamming on the brakes and leaping into the road with zero regard for traffic was not a good way to celebrate her newfound vitality, but such is life.

And when she was done shaking herself off and yelling like a crazy person, he drew her to him and made soothing noises while her curses and sobs subsided.

“There’ll be flies and bugs galore but they’ve nothing to do with you anymore, you daft cunt.”

*

He drove them to the nearest drugstore and returned with six different brands of bug repellent. And snacks.

*

In half an hour she was behind the wheel again, fully composed and completely slathered in a cocktail of the stuff. She sniffed her arm and made a face. _Ugh_. But the smell of lemon eucalyptus would remind her that she was alive.

She glanced over at Sweeney, who’d resumed his former attitude – arms folded, feet on the dash, knees almost to his ears. Back to sleep again, as if she hadn’t nearly killed the both of them. It was kinda reassuring.

Safely unobserved, Laura indulged in a fond smile and resumed her reflections –

\- the thing was, with Shadow, _hello_ meant _I love you_. For Laura on the other hand, _I love you_ had just meant _hello_. Every time she’d said it, she’d betrayed a trust – made a promise she couldn’t keep. Those three words were a curse that would never pass her lips again.

Glancing back at the sleeping Sweeney, she decided one thing –

 _Whatever happens, I won’t make that mistake again._ After all, promises had to be made to be broken.

*

The room reeked of shame and regret. Or at least, it was rank with the lingering smell of stale booze and weed, which tended to mean the same thing. A leprechaun was one hell of a drinking companion, no doubt. Guess stereotypes are there for a reason.

This particular leprechaun was currently serving as a large, warm and quite tickly pillow and - she squinted – were those hickeys?

And they were both naked again. Laura sighed. Some day – _some day_ – this would happen while she was sober and could remember the finer details.

On the bright side, she hadn’t had a proper hangover since her resurrection. Which was remarkable, considering who she was with. The lack of a nauseous headache left little - probably nothing - to regret, all in all.

It’d been a riotously successful night at the craps table, of that she was certain, and they’d celebrated as had befitted the occasion. Last thing she remembered was smoking weed by the fountain at the Lady Luck casino – everything after that was a mess of lights and traffic and drinks and – _singing?_ First night in Vegas, what a cliché.

_Well, we got back to the motel and neither of us is missing a kidney as far as I can see –_

She took in her surroundings. This actually wasn’t the motel. This was a very nice and fancy room. More of a hotel. _Probably blew their whole winnings on it_.

Laura sat up carefully. She wasn’t going to spew any time soon but her mouth tasted of floor polish. _Water, need water._ On the way to the bathroom, she picked up her clothes as she found them. Underwear, dress, check.

_Hm, what’s this?_

*

_Oh please no._

Laura sat down slowly on the toilet seat, staring at the folded paper in her hand.

_How could she have ruined everything so soon?_

The scrolled writing was unmistakeable. _Certificate Of Marriage, The Little Church of America. The undersigned did on this day –_

 _‘Lucky Sweeney’_ had apparently, last night, been married to _Laura_ – uh – _Goddess of Roadkill_ – for fuck’s sake – _Second Chances and_ – she turned the page sideways to read the amendment – _and Never Making Any Promises Ever._

Undersigned by her own scrawled signature and whatever the hell that was right there.

Laura let out a nervous snort, clamped a shaking hand over her mouth and began to breathe again. It was just a joke. A drunken, stoned Las Vegas seemed-hilarious-at-time joke.

Oh thank God. That was almost not good. The thought of standing there, looking Sweeney in the eye and _promising_ to – to love and honour and whatever the fuck else – it would be a – really bad thing.

She scanned her eye over the fake certificate one more time and made to stuff it back into the envelope. She fumbled it and something else fell out. Polaroids, two of ‘em.

One of her and Sweeney, and a little guy in a string tie who looked really familiar. The guy is grinning like he’s fucking terrified, and both she and Sweeney are looking at the photographer like he should probably fuck off and stop taking pictures. _Well, that looks about right_. And the second – well – it was kind of hard to stop looking at the second.

 _So that’s what kissing Sweeney looks like_.

The string-tie guy had wandered off to the edge of the picture and was looking down at something shiny in his hand. The two of them looked like there was nobody else in the world right then. Laura sighed. That’s a pretty good wedding photo. Good job it’s not real.

She tucked the two photos into her pocket and jumped guiltily at a gentle tap at the door.

"Just a minute - "

She took a deep breath and opened the bathroom door. There he stood, sagging with relief but still eyeing her nervously.

"Oh - hey - I thought maybe - I saw your stuff was gone - y'know - thirty days and all that - "

The coin. They'd slept in the same room - sometimes the same bed - since they'd arrived. The Baron hadn't specified just how close they had to stick together and they didn't want to take any chances.

"I'm still here," she nodded, not meeting his eye. She knew he didn't really care if she stayed or went after the thirty days were up but, for all that, she stepped forward and kind of headbutted him in the chest.

Laura stepped away quickly and wandered toward the window before - she didn't know _what_ but she was confused and uncomfortable and _itchy_. She was dying for a smoke, but this looked like the sort of place to get pissy about it.

"Y'alright?" Sweeney asked, sounding uncertain. Probably worried she was gonna be funny about the fact that they'd fucked again, give him a hard time about it. Quite the opposite. If she didn't speak of it, it wouldn't have to be awkward.

"What's the envelope?" he asked, a little nervously. Laura turned, forcing a smile. _Well, it was funny. Really funny._ "This? It's - uh - it says we're married," she replied lamely, holding it out to him. _Jesus woman, work on your delivery. Won't be getting any standup gigs if that's the best you can do._

Sweeney looked at her like she'd just offered to _pray_ for him or something. 

"So much for the word of a loa - " he muttered, taking it like it was his death warrant.

_Huh?_

"What's this?" Sweeney's face was a picture, as he scanned the fake certificate. He looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or punch something. But Laura’s own mind was racing. What did those voodoo assholes have to do with - ?

”Wait - did we get married in New Orleans? Something to do with the whole - resurrection thing?" And the penny dropped, although not literally this time. "Ohhh that fucking coin - ” 

“Aye well, what’s mine is yours now - ” he murmured, squinting at the paper. “ - Goddess of Roadkill - ? Heh, that's about right - ”

"Wait - is this why I've been dropping coins all over the place? Can I even _have_ a hangover anymore?"

_Corpse bride becomes goddess by marriage. National Enquirer headline of the year. But if she was dead, she’d made no promises. So that was alright._

"Don't worry, you're a demigod at best - the smallest of small potatoes. But I'll believe in you, if you like." He dropped on the bed with a relieved sigh. "Thank fuck for that - there I was thinkin' it was news from Samedi."

"Bad news?"

"Is there any other kind? But, here - you're not mad?" he looked up at her doubtfully. "I thought you'd try and rip my limbs off."

"You're the mad one here, Fanta Pants."

Laura sat down beside him and smiled a little smile. She'd sworn no-one but herself would see them, but what the hell. War may be coming and Gods knew they might as well have some fun before the shit hit the fan.

"There's photos if you wanna see them." Without looking, she slipped _one_ of the photos from her pocket and handed it to Sweeney, who surveyed it for a moment.

"Isn't that wee fella from the ice cream van? He looks fuckin' terrified."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Ice Cream Guy - gets politely robbed in Kentucky by a tall angry ginger man and a small smelly woman, gets fired and moves to Vegas to start a new career as Assistant Officiant. First week on the job, he's closing up for the night when same tall angry ginger and small less-smelly woman stagger in demanding to be married. Remembering how tall ginger had kicked in a picnic table the last time he was upset about something, Former Ice Cream Guy decides not to be the one to point out that they'll need a licence, and plays along. He's always wanted to try Canada anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Because I'm missing Madwife and I am too impatient!! Also in coronavirus chaos mode so need to shipshipship as a distraction.


End file.
